When Grace Sings (38 page)

Alexa entered the room but remained near the doorway, seemingly unwilling to interrupt her grandmother.

“Of course, outsiders come to Arborville frequently to shop for hand-crafted items or just to gawk at the Amish buggies, but none of them stay long enough to really understand how and why we live the way we do. Having you live among us gave us an opportunity to share every facet of our faith, and maybe let you discover we aren’t so different from each other after all, hmm?”

Mrs. Z held her hand toward Alexa, and the young woman hurried across the floor to take it. She smiled up at her granddaughter for a moment before turning to Briley again. “As for me, you’ve let me see how Alexa’s decision to turn my old farmhouse into a bed-and-breakfast inn is more than giving Arborville a hotel of sorts. It’s a means of ministry. So thank you for staying here.”

Briley stared at the wheelchair-bound woman. Oddly, a comment Paul Aldrich had made weeks ago tiptoed through the back of Briley’s mind.
Something about not being able to make the fish bite—you could only throw out the bait and wait. The cynical side of him tried to tell him she was toying with him. Misleading him. Even tricking him. But his deepest scrutiny uncovered not a shred of insincerity. Her honest admission impacted him deeply. Even so, he set his jaw to avoid clamping down on a dangling hook.

“Will you send us a copy of the article when it’s printed?” The older woman raised one gray eyebrow. “We don’t receive Chicago periodicals here in Arborville, you know.”

Briley hoped they never saw the article. He needed a change of subjects, and he grasped the first question that entered his mind. “Why is this place called ‘Grace Notes’?”

Mrs. Zimmerman and Alexa exchanged fond smiles. Still holding her grandmother’s hand, Alexa answered. “First of all, God’s grace is a precious gift. I think grace is the purest form of mercy, offered even when it’s undeserved or rejected.” She spoke with a seriousness that captured Briley’s attention so thoroughly, he almost neglected to breathe. “We humans are so imperfect, and we mess up so many times—”

Mrs. Zimmerman released a throaty chuckle and nodded.

“But God continues to give us grace. So that’s part of it. The other part comes from one of my favorite verses. Zephaniah 3:17 tells me the Lord takes delight in me, and that in His love He rejoices over me with singing.” Tears winked in Alexa’s dark eyes, turning the irises a deep chocolate brown. “I wanted the name of the inn to honor God for what He does and what He gives. Grace Notes just seemed to …” She shrugged, a trickle of soft laughter leaving her throat. “Fit.”

The pancakes soured in his stomach. He pushed his plate aside. “Steven, are you ready to put me to work?”

Steven gave a jolt, as if he’d fallen asleep at the table. Red streaked his clean-shaven cheeks, and he jerkily pushed from his chair. “If you want to work today, I’m sure Mr. Aldrich and I will find something for you to do.”

Briley headed around the table, eager to escape the strange pressure in his
chest. “Then let’s go.” Before he made it to the front door, Alexa’s soft voice brought him to a stop. He turned to find her near, his lunch box in hand.

“You’ll want this. Your last box lunch from Grace Notes.”

Did she have any idea how much her statement bothered him? He took the lunch box and gripped the handle so tightly the fibers dug into his palm.

“And I asked Grandmother about going to Wichita with you this evening. She approved it, so I’ll be ready at six thirty if you still want to go.”

Briley closed his eyes for a moment. What was wrong with him? He needed the evening with Alexa. Without the nitty-gritty details of her illegitimacy, he couldn’t finish the article. But he was sorely tempted to cancel. To forget the whole thing. Her simple statement
—“grace is the purest form of mercy, offered even when it’s undeserved”
—taunted him. They’d been kind to him. Opened their lives to him. Trusted him. And he intended to repay them by exposing their imperfections.

“Briley?”

He opened his eyes.

Amusement showed in the quirk of her lips. “If you changed your mind, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

If he didn’t change his mind, he’d definitely hurt her feelings. Hers, and Mrs. Z’s, and every other person in this town who’d made him feel welcome. He shook his head. “I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll ring the front bell at six thirty, like a true gentleman would do.” Even though he was no gentleman.

“All right.” She backed slowly toward the dining room, her smile sweet. “Enjoy your day.”

He headed onto the porch and turned his face toward the cool breeze washing from the north. He blew out a breath of aggravation. At himself. At her. At Len. At circumstances. He flicked a glance at the sky as he headed for his car. Would that grace Alexa talked about cover someone who deliberately hurt people who lived to serve God? Probably not. The realization made him sadder than he wanted to admit.

Steven

Friday morning Steven drove Anna—Grace to the hardware store in town to buy wallpapering tools before going to the house. Paul Aldrich had offered the use of his tools, claiming Alexa had borrowed them when working in the B and B, but Anna—Grace declined the offer. She gave the excuse that if she broke something, she’d feel guilty, but he suspected she just didn’t want to be beholden to the carpenter. He considered refusing to buy new. After all, she only intended to put up paper in the dining room and bathroom. They might never use those tools again. But twenty dollars was a small price to pay for her comfort.

As the cashier tallied up the purchases, the man said, “So you’ve got the walls all prepped for paper already, huh? I got a look at the place when we came out and repaired the barn. There was a lot of patching to do. You must be working nonstop to have them patched and primed so soon.”

Steven frowned. “Primed?”

He placed the trimmer and stiff brush inside the plastic water tray and slid it across the counter. “Well, sure. Wallpaper won’t stick to unpainted plaster. And it sure won’t stick wherever you’ve got Spackle. You have to prepare the walls with either paint or primer.”

Steven grimaced and looked at Anna—Grace. “I wish Mr. Aldrich had said something about primer.”

The cashier chuckled and scratched his chin. “He probably assumed you already knew. It’s pretty common knowledge.”

Gritting his teeth to hold back a growl, Steven cupped Anna—Grace’s elbow and led her to the corner of the store where a freestanding metal shelf held gallons of ready-mixed paint. He picked up a can of flat white primer and read the label. “This says a gallon will cover two hundred square feet. Do you remember how big the dining room is?”

She nodded. “Fourteen feet long by eleven feet wide.”

Steven tapped the can with one finger and muttered, “So twenty-eight and twenty-two equals fifty, times ten feet high comes out to five hundred square feet, which would mean two gallons plus two quarts of primer. But if we take away the door, the built-in cabinet, and window openings, two gallons should cover it all.” He reached for a second gallon and then turned to find Anna—Grace staring at him, open mouthed. “What?”

She released a short huff of laughter. “You’re so smart. I would never have figured that out in my head.”

He snorted. “Smart, huh? I didn’t even know we had to prime the walls first. ‘Common knowledge,’ the man said.” The embarrassment still stung.

“Common knowledge for a carpenter. Not for a farmer.”

Her words did little to comfort him. A teacher should know things that were considered common knowledge. “Let’s get this paid for.”

In the truck Anna—Grace reached across the console for his hand. He took it and she squeezed hard. “Thank you for buying everything. I know you think it was frivolous.”

He thought it more foolish and prideful than frivolous, but he didn’t say so.

“But it shouldn’t be wasteful. After all, we might decide to paper the other rooms someday. Or if we end up living somewhere else, we’ll have what we need to decorate those walls with paper if we want to. The tools will be used again someday, I’m sure.”

Steven eased the truck off the highway onto the gravel road. “Will it be
hard for you to think of living somewhere else after putting work into this house?”

She sat in thoughtful silence for a few seconds. “Maybe. I don’t know. It was fun choosing the wallpaper and the paint colors, and the kitchen is so nice. I found myself imagining cooking in it. It felt … comfortable.”

He wished he could feel comfortable. Mrs. Zimmerman had told Briley that his time in Arborville gave the Mennonites a chance for self-reflection. She was right. Meeting the reporter from Chicago had brought him face to face with the root of his dissatisfaction. People outside of Old Order communities could choose whatever career they wanted. They had
freedom
where he had none. Spending time with Briley had only served to magnify Steven’s frustration.

He jammed on the brakes, nearly sending Anna—Grace into the windshield. He ignored her cry of surprise, slipped the gearshift into Park, and whirled on her. “I was thinking last night about the Zimmermans. They’ve rented my grandfather’s farmland for more than twenty years. Now that I’m here, they have to find land somewhere else to plant crops. It’s a hardship for them. I feel guilty taking the land away from them. Clete had already put in a winter wheat crop, and I’ve told him to plan to harvest it for himself. But if we aren’t going to stay here—if I’m going to sell the house and the land—it would probably be good for them to know soon. Before they find some other land to rent. They should have first chance at my acreage since they’ve put so much work into it.”

Anna—Grace gazed at him, her blue eyes wide. “Are you asking me to decide
now
whether or not I can live in Arborville?”

“I’m asking you to decide quickly. For the Zimmermans’ sake.” And for his sake, too.

She shook her head, the ribbons from her cap gently swaying beneath her chin. “I can’t, Steven. I haven’t even attended service with the local fellowship.”

If he told her they were taking farmland away from her biological uncle,
aunts, and grandmother, would she make up her mind more quickly? He was twenty-three—the age when English students graduated from college and began their adult vocations. The impatience to do, as Andrew Braun had phrased it, what he was meant to do nearly turned him inside out.
And if you’d just come right out and tell her you don’t want to live here, you could end this frustration now
. His lips parted, the words ready to escape.

“I have to be sure, Steven, before I ask you to give up the land your parents gave you.”

Her simple statement sent his desires scuttling into the shadows. How could he have forgotten his parents? He couldn’t dishonor them by throwing their gift back in their faces.

She looked at him, confusion evident in the pinch of her brow. “I thought you were going to let me have time to decide. Do you really need to know right now?”

He hung his head. “No. Take the time you need. I’m sorry I pressured you.”

She leaned across the console and placed a kiss on his jaw. “It’s all right. I’m sorry things are so uncertain.” She smiled, her expression hopeful. “But one thing I know for sure—I love you, and I want to be your wife. Wherever we decide to live, I know I’ll be happy.”

Steven nodded, put the truck in gear, and released the brake. Her final statement echoed in his mind.
“Wherever we decide to live, I know I’ll be happy.”
He wished he could make the same claim.

Alexa

After serving supper to Grandmother, Steven, and Anna—Grace and receiving Anna—Grace’s promise to clear the table and wash dishes, Alexa darted upstairs to change for her evening with Briley. She tossed her twill skirt and long-sleeved T-shirt in the dirty clothes basket, then stood in front of her closet, trying to
decide what to wear. Even though this wasn’t technically a date, she wanted to look nice. But not too nice. So she wouldn’t make Briley think she thought it was a date. She laughed at herself. “Just pick something!”

She chose her ankle-length, straight, tan corduroy skirt and topped it with a sweater of deepest turquoise. The sweater’s nubby texture and cowl neck provided a perfect setting for a multicolored gauzy scarf, which she looped around the cowl and left the ends dangling. Kind of like the ribbons from a Mennonite cap. Brown slouch boots completed her outfit.